Think of Me Fondly
by Dresupi
Summary: It's a dream come true when Hermione is assigned to organise an old, forgotten library. The curator is an old acquaintance, one who has changed significantly in their time apart. But old associations flourish in close quarters, and regardless of the changes they've both endured, a relationship begins to bloom. Phantom of the Opera AU/Fusion. Blaise/Hermione. One Shot.


**Phantom of the Opera AU/Fusion**

 **I wrote this back in October 2017 as part of my Halloween prompts, for thestarfishdancer, it's crossposted on ao3.**

 **I tried to fuse the two universes seamlessly, there are a couple of cheesey puns in here that I left in simply because that's how I roll.**

 **I tried to make this less... I hesitate to say 'rapey', but less RAPEY than the source material. And also, instead of making Hermione an Opera singer, I decided to change the setting to one more suited to our favorite bookworm. ;)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

"Hello?" Hermione called into the cavernous room. Her voice echoed seemingly forever. She stepped inside, looking around. There was no way to ascertain just how large or small the room was by sight alone.

She was erring on the side of large, however.

She approached the front desk: a scuffed up, heavy piece of antique furniture. Empty, save for a crystal water glass with a single, long stemmed red rose inside. She bent to sniff at the blossom, before straightening and taking a few steps towards the uncertain darkness.

The room smelled of musty old books. She inhaled deeply, allowing it to permeate everything around her. Never in all her life was she as excited for an away assignment as she was for this one.

An old library? Full of old books? That she alone would be organising and cataloguing for the Ministry? She wanted to pinch herself, this must be a dream.

"Hermione Granger?" a voice sounded from further back in the room. "Is that you?"

Ah yes. She wouldn't be _completely_ alone.

"Yes… are you the curator?" she asked, taking a few steps into the room. The voice sounded _familiar_.

"Aye, that's me, then…" Footsteps grew closer and she could just make out a tall figure standing a few feet from her.

She hadn't been able to find out the curator's name in any of her paperwork she'd received from the ministry.

"I'm sorry… I didn't quite catch your name?"

"That's cuz I didn't throw it, love."

Alright, she _definitely_ knew that voice.

"Blaise? Zabini?" she asked, almost embarrassed to ask for fear of being wrong.

"What gave me away?" he asked, chuckling slightly and beginning to walk away from her.

Hermione followed him, her shoes clicking on the tiled floor as she struggled to keep up with his long-legged gait.

"Could you perhaps… stop walking for a moment?"

"Don't you want to get started?" he asked, turning slightly, but seemingly thinking better of it and quickening his pace towards the back of the room.

"Perhaps, but then again, I'd also like to catch up…" she trailed off as he turned around.

A large scar was visible over his left eye, which was now milky white and sightless. Hermione gasped and immediately regretted it.

Blaise smirked and turned away from her once more. "Are we all caught up now, Granger? Can we get started?"

"I'm so sorry… Blaise… I didn't know-"

"Not many people do. Don't fret over it. Fretting won't make me handsome again."

"Blaise…" He was still handsome. The scar wasn't as horrible as all that.

"I assumed we'd start in the back, then?" He kept walking and she noticed a slight limp in his gait. Hermione wondered what could have possibly happened to him, she hadn't seen him after the Battle of Hogwarts, so there was a distinct possibility that he might have sustained the injuries there.

"What… how did it happen?" she asked.

"My injury? Or my appointment as curator of these dusty old books?"

"Both?" she ventured.

"The injury was from one of the skirmishes that broke out after the Battle of Hogwarts. Took a spell to the face, as it was. Just boom. Burning. Agony. And when I woke up, my eye had gone all white...and instead of my once beautiful face, I was left with _this_ …" he gestured vaguely up above his neck. "As for this position, I asked for it. My family estate is nearby and I thought this might keep me out of the public eye." He shrugged. "And it has, for the most part."

"Sorry to disturb you…" she mumbled.

He turned back once more, his steps ceasing as he peered at her. "I _knew_ you'd be the one they sent, Granger. Knew you'd be up here eventually. Call it fate. Call it a premonition, but mostly call it my recognition of a fellow bookworm."

"You knew _I'd_ be coming?"

"Well before they sent you. And you aren't disturbing me…" He turned, waving his arm down the hall to the left. "If I were you, I'd start down there. Work counterclockwise throughout the swirl…"

"The swirl?" Hermione frowned and glanced around the dimly lit room. "What swirl?"

"Ah. Right. Sorry…" Blaise clapped and the lamplight increased. Increased so much and so quickly that the both of them blinked and squinted as their eyes adjusted to the light. "I keep the lights down, it bothers my… my injury to have them on at full force…"

She glanced around, realizing that they hadn't been walking in a straight line at all, that the floor carried on in a circular pattern, getting wider and wider until they had arrived at the end. "What a peculiar design for a library…"

"Now, there are four of these _swirls_. All full of books. None of the books are organised, I was told to leave that pleasure to you, but I'll be happy to help in anyway I can."

Nodding, she pressed her lips together before answering him. "Thank you, Blaise."

"Anytime, Hermione…"

And with that, he was gone.

* * *

It took her a while. Months, in fact. Plural. Months.

Months to catalogue every single book. To find some semblance of an organisational pattern. To reshelve all of them accordingly.

Blaise was a tremendous help. She found him just as dry and witty as he'd been in school, if a touch less biased and bigoted. More than a touch, in fact. He kept her sane by keeping up with her idle chatter and rattling nerves. He kept things bright and cheery in the dark cavernous room. Either with his conversation and company or by his attention to detail.

Somehow, he always had a fresh red rose in that crystal glass on the desk.

Hermione wasn't sure _how_. She didn't see any rose bushes on the premises, so he'd likely brought it from home.

It took her until her last day, however, to realize just how close she'd become with the Phantom Curator of the Lost Library.

She called him that because of how he flitted around the massive building. Leaving without saying a word and walking up to her hours later to continue a conversation right where they'd left off.

But as she was shelving the last books, she felt a pang of something. Of regret. Of longing. Of… something she couldn't quite place.

"I'm going to miss you, Blaise…" she said quietly.

"Why?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. I've grown accustomed to your company. Your friendship."

"You've grown accustomed to my face, Granger?" He waggled his eyebrows and she laughed.

In truth, she hardly noticed the scar anymore. It had become a part of Blaise in her mind. Not unlike a mole or a crooked tooth. Freckles.

Blaise's scar just _was_. And it neither bothered her nor didn't. It simply was.

"Do you ever come to London?"

He snorted in response. "Why? Fancy a date, Granger? You and I goin' out on the town? Traipsing around Diagon Alley with you on my arm? Fancy dress charity balls? The Malfoys' Christmas party?"

"Those are oddly specific events, Zabini."

He shook his head. "Get all of it out of your head, darling. No one wants to see this face. It just reminds them of everything that was lost."

"Everything? What's everything?"

"Innocence. Lives. Everything, Granger. Nobody wants such a vivid reminder of war as my face is. I'm better off here."

"No one is better off all alone."

"I am. I'm a ghost to them. I'll remain a ghost to them."

"Blaise. Surely your friends…"

"I have no friends, love. I'm dead."

"You're not dead…" She reached out to touch his hand, warm to the touch. "You're not dead."

He chuckled. "Had to check, did ya?"

She laced their fingers and squeezed. "No. I had to reach out."

"Well, come off it. As far as anyone's concerned, I'm a ghost. And you… you've got no reason to be with the likes of me."

"That's a load of rubbish, Blaise. Your friends would be happy to see you."

"Maybe… maybe I'm fine where I am, Hermione. Did you ever think of that? Maybe I'm the one who doesn't want to see anyone."

She released his hand and dropped the subject as well.

* * *

It had shown up that morning. Sometime before she'd arrived.

A single, long-stemmed red rose on her desk at the Ministry. And she knew it was from him the instant she spied it.

It had been months since she'd seen Blaise. Since she'd heard from him. She'd sent him owls. Little notes. Just checking in.

Each time, her owl came back fed, but with no returning correspondence. So, she'd done what any well-adjusted adult would do, she'd sent more letters more often.

But even that became dreary as days went by with nothing in return. Sending letters to a brick wall wasn't exactly what she would call a fun time, so she eventually stopped altogether.

The rose was lying on her desk that morning and she stuck it in a glass of water, just… for nostalgia's sake.

"Who sent it?" she asked her assistant, who shrugged before replying.

"A courier brought it."

"No card?'

She was met with another shake of the head and she decided to leave it be. If Blaise suddenly had decided to return her correspondence, he certainly had a hell of a way of going about it.

There were another four roses delivered to her at lunch.

Another two when she was set to leave her office. A courier arrived as she was stepping out onto the street, thrusting them into her hand and leaving just as soon as she started asking questions.

Seven roses. Seven altogether.

She was puzzling over the meaning of the number when she jammed her keys into the lock of her door nearly twenty minutes later.

She put the kettle on and stuck all seven red roses into a vase in the middle of her kitchen table. As she waited for her tea, she mulled over the flowers.

The first, she'd received upon arriving to work. The second through fifth all came as she was leaving for lunch. At one o'clock in the afternoon. And the final two came precisely at five when she left for home.

Frowning, she summoned her quill and a bit of parchment.

One rose that morning. Four roses (putting her total up to five) at one. And another two roses at five.

"OH!" she said aloud. They were times! Of course, they were times!

The first indicating when the second delivery would happen (at one), the second putting her total up to five, indicating when the next delivery would happen (at five), the third putting her up to seven, indicating that the final delivery would happen at seven.

She glanced up at the clock. It was only a quarter to six, so she had some time yet.

That time was slow to pass. Even if she did try to fill it with all manner of things. She cleaned her kitchen. Ate a meal. She brushed her hair, changed out of her work clothes. She attempted to read.

When the clock finally struck seven, she heard a knock at the door.

She bounded towards it, her heart a flutter as she opened it, expecting a bouquet or some other such nonsense. Some other part of the puzzle that she was solving.

What she wasn't expecting was Blaise. At her door. Looking very sheepish indeed.

"Blaise!"

"Oy, Granger…" he said, lifting his hand to wave awkwardly.

"What are you… what are you doing here?"

"Was it not me you were expecting?" He looked a little disappointed, but mostly panicked as she quickly tried to smooth things over.

"Not in person!" she exclaimed. "I thought… I thought perhaps there would be…"

"Flowers?" He pulled his hand from round his back, a large bouquet of red roses appearing in front of her.

Smiling, she accepted the gift, holding them up for a sniff before she turned to lay them carefully on a table near the door. She opened her arms and he stepped into them. "I was expecting the flowers, but I'm so glad you're here as well."

"I'm sorry I didn't return your letters...I … I didn't know what to say. I let them go too long and I thought perhaps an in-person reply would be better at this juncture of…" He trailed off when she squeezed him tighter.

"In person is wonderful," she assured him. "In the flesh is always better, Blaise."

"I didn't want to become a ghost to you too, Hermione."

"You're not a ghost to anyone, Blaise. But, least of all to me."

"If not a ghost, perhaps a phantom, then?" he prodded.

"Neither a ghost nor a phantom…" she stepped aside, "Would you like to come in?"

His resulting smile was worth everything.

* * *

 **Leave me some sugar if you liked it! *wink***


End file.
